They Are Not Born
by NoelleWynters
Summary: Monsters come in many shapes and forms, but it wasn't something born that way.


_Standard disclaimer applies: I own nothing, this is all for fun._

_The prompt for this was **monsters**._

So many people believed that monsters were terrifying to behold, they were deformed creatures or simply tales to frighten young children into behaving. Cyrus had heard many of those tales over the many years he'd existed so far. He'd seen some rather frightening creatures as well, and even fought one or two in a bid to protect whoever it was at the time who owned his will.

But he knew that monsters weren't something born by chance in all cases, some were made by the cruelty of the world around them. Not all could be identified by looks alone, as they weren't twisted creatures that struck fear in the heart and mind of the beholder with only one glance.

There were times he'd been called one, in the heat of the moment when a wish went wrong his master would shout and carry on that he was nothing more than an evil demon set on bringing nothing but ruin to whoever found him. He had been accused more times than he could remember of twisting his master's words, all simply to punish the person who owned is will for being free whilst he was forever a prisoner and tethered to his bottle.

Nothing could be further than the truth, but no words he could speak would ever convince his master otherwise as they yelled at him, or worse. He could not control what his magic would do when a wish was granted, which was why he always warned whoever found him to be mindful of their wording for wishes were tricky.

Of course he was envious of their freedom in a way, but he'd made peace with his life a long time ago. Years alone gave you time to think, and he realized there was no point in being angry and resentful towards the race he once had been part of and now was a slave to. It would do him no good, and he did not long to become twisted with hate.

The sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts, and he slowly sat up in the silver cage that was his new prison. His dark eyes glanced over to see Jafar walking towards him with a satisfied smirk coming over his features. Cyrus was growing tired of these games, the sorcerer would come every few days to taunt him with new ways he would break Alice. How he would ruin her and force her to make her three wishes to free his will from the woman he loved.

Cyrus knew a monster when he saw one, and sometimes they weren't what one would think. Sometimes they were dressed in a fine red gown, a sparkling crown set upon glistening tresses of gold with a gleam of hate in their crystal blue eyes. At a glance the Red Queen looked to be nothing more than a monarch who cared more for her pretty jewels than her subjects, yet Cyrus had seen the darker side to her, and still he sensed she wasn't completely what one would call evil. She was twisted, and even broken in a way he couldn't discern, but he wouldn't label her a monster.

Not yet anyway.

Jafar on the other hand, Cyrus knew this man was a monster. Nothing more than evil parading around as a man. He wondered who had made him this way, at one time the genie was sure the sorcerer had been an innocent child, who had most likely had a family he had loved and had cared deeply for him in return. What could have happened to shape him into this man set on power and who cared little for who he hurt or killed along the way?

It baffled Cyrus in a way to think, at some point in the man's past, there was someone who had taken the child he was and warped him into the power hungry monster he was now. How much anger and hate towards the world could that person have had to take a child and create such a hateful adult? The person obviously had been talented in magic, as Cyrus knew of no children born with that talent. He'd grown up knowing a few spells before being cursed to the life he now had, but nothing like what the man who held him captive knew.

Part of him, the part that actually cared about the humans who found him, wanted to ask Jafar who had shaped him into the monster that stood at the end of the platform by his cage. Even as the sorcerer pressed his arm against the silver bars, trying to reinforce that there was no way of escape for him, he still wanted to know. Cyrus had dealt with a lot of cruelty in his life, this was no different. He knew Jafar wanted a reaction out of him and he made sure to give him none.

He stared into the sorcerer's eyes defiantly, he would show no sign of pain for the man's satisfaction. But somewhere deep inside he cringed, because in the other man's dark eyes he saw nothing but darkness and evil.

This man was a monster, and there was nothing left of the human he'd once been.

Cyrus recalled once being told that not everything called a monster came into existence as one, some were made. And he couldn't help but wonder what had become of the person responsible for making Jafar into the monster he had become, if they were even still alive to see what they had created.


End file.
